


Melting Faces

by LikeWaterisWet



Category: Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Chester is a Creep, Episode: s1e05 Coda, Gen, Lots of Drugs, Mild Blood, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, marcus is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeWaterisWet/pseuds/LikeWaterisWet
Summary: Marcus really shouldn't have shoved seven tabs of acid into his mouth to impress his friends. But here he was. This really was the worst situation he could have found himself in.Basically how could I not rewrite the Chester scene from the show with more Marcus!angst.





	Melting Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, I have to say this fandom has completely consumed my life as of late. I wrote this on a whim late at night bc I was listening to aggressively angsty music.
> 
> All of the dialogue is taken directly from the show verbatim, I just wanted a closer look into the reality Marcus was living in the scene. I also haven't read the comics beyond what's happened in the show as I'm not looking for spoilers. I did look up some information from fandom wiki.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this excuse for me to mess with Marcus.

     The world tilted out of place, gravity replaced by the weight of the drugs in his system. Moments passed in a slideshow of colors, still images overlapping to form some pale mimicry of reality. The bright lights of the casino filtered through his vision as an oversaturated headache of dizzying motion. Marcus blinked. Voices whispered in his ears, the past rushing to superimpose over the present. The faint memory of his mom laughing at something he couldn’t quite recall filtered through the mindless chatter of the casino machines. 

     Marcus inhaled. Fire entered his lungs, smoke spilling out from between his lips to form clouds of dancing figures. He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. How had that gotten there? No matter. There was something else more important. What was it again? Marcus rolled his head, eyes trailing sightlessly over the room. Something … important? With great effort Marcus dropped his head forward to look at the smoldering stub clutched between his fingers. His mind lagged behind his motions as he brought his hand up to his face, splaying his fingers open and closed.

     Blood. Vibrant red liquid coated his hand in a film of color. His eyes trailed apathetically down his arm as a dark red bead trickled down to rest in the crook of his elbow. Marcus frowned. Billy. His eyes snapped up and in a moment of coherence, he scanned the room wildly, looking for the green mohawk of his friend. He had to find Billy. Billy would know why his hands were red. Stumbling forward mindlessly he slipped through the rows of slot machines towards the elevator. Billy. A spark went off in Marcus’ mind as he stared at the unpressed up-arrow. A screaming Billy flashed through his mind, leaning over a red stained body. Billy’s dad. That’s right. They still had to kill Billy’s dad. Or they had already killed him? Time wouldn’t stay still long enough for him to figure it out. A smile spread across his face as he pressed the button to call the elevator. Marcus settled back on his heels, content in the knowledge of his current mission. Back to the room where he would find Billy, and then they could go off the abusive son of a bitch. The ding of the lift jolted Marcus out of his thoughts. 

     Silver metal doors stood open before him. When had they opened? Shrugging Marcus hurried in, pressing his floor and immediately seeking the back wall for support. His legs felt like jelly beneath him. Kinda like he didn’t have bones. He did have bones right? A hand reached out and gripped at his leg to feel for his bones. Relief flooded his veins at the feeling of the solid mass of his own leg pressing back against his hand.

     The elevator dinged again as the doors started to close. Marcus settled back into the metal railing. The energy that had flooded his system merely seconds ago draining away and leaving the world strangely desaturated, as if all of the color that had filled the world had been washed away. A hand flicked out, stopping the door mid-close. Time crumpled and suddenly Marcus was staring at a dirty leather jacket topped by a mop of greasy long brown hair. His mouth opened, ready to ask the question that was dancing tantalizingly on the tip of his tongue, but the the back of his throat closed instead. The seconds drew out, seemingly an eternity passed in unmoving silence. Marcus closed his mouth. What was he supposed to say? Self deprecating thoughts ran rampant through his head, lighting the last shred of his sanity on fire. After a million years the lift came to a shuttering stop. The black leather back turned to face him. Marcus felt his eyes trail up the dirty black shirt.

     “What’s up queerbait?” He was six years old, crying in pain as a knife traced down his face leaving a trail of red. The harsh voice submerged him beneath years of painful memories. Reality bent away from his grasp as he pressed himself as far into the corner of the elevator as he could. The familiar face of his demon twisted and melted as he stared wide-eyed with fear at his tormentor.

     “Am I tripping you out man?” The cruel curl of warped lips lit his back on fire, aging scars bursting open as old memories bled into the cracks in the present. Marcus whimpered, a flood of pointless words spilling from between his cracked lips. Nothing he said ever changed anything. The pain would come no matter what.

     “Chester you - you are,” Marcus stumbled over his own words, fear making the cramped elevator spin. His stomach rebelled as the past crept through his thoughts, stalking him in the form of a giant beast of shadows.

     “Pretty,” Chester cut him off, jumping forward to trap Marcus in the corner. The feeling of a knife carving patterns into his back pressed against his mind. Fear clouded reality, turning blue and grey walls into the sterile white from the boy’s home. Years of his own screams bubbled up his throat, trying to escape his mouth.

     “No, you’re surprised I’m alive. Is that it?” No, Marcus really wasn’t surprised. All those years ago when he had built that bomb there had been some part of him that knew that a demon couldn’t be killed by normal means. 

     “You couldn’t piece together what happened at the home. That’s because you’re dumb as shit.” Chester grinned, wide and menacing. Marcus barely blinked as his lips kept going past the realm of reality until Chester started to look more like a demonic joker than a normal man. This really was the worst situation he could have found himself in.

     “Animals I understand because animals can’t lie. Can’t never let you down, unlike my old bunkmate, Marcus.” A thousand nights of stained moaning filtered through his ears. A small whine escaped from Marcus as he tried to press himself further into the wall to escape the disgust that was crawling across his skin. He barely registered the knife as it rested against his forehead, tracing down his face. The pinprick of pain as Chester pressed the edge of the blade against his cheek pierced through the drug addled haze that had fallen over his mind. Fear bubbled in his stomach, a million repressed memories fighting for his attention.

     “I was planning to kill you, for real. Came all this way. But on the ride in, I seen all these shows…” Chester drawled, his voice taking on the drawl that haunted his nightmares. The silver glint shifted, sending the reflected light directly into Marcus’ wide eyes. He blinked rapidly to try and keep his vision as clear as possible, he needed to be able to watch the movements of his demon lest to drag him down to the furthest reaches of hell.

     “All these big lights. It got me thinking.” Some of the weight lifts off Marcus’ shoulders as Chester pulls the knife away from his face. Colors danced around the inside of elevator, drawing his attention away from the scars that twisted across his demon’s face. His eyes tracked all around the room as he tried to find one thing to focus on. Slowly he became more and more disoriented by the dizzying colors. The sound of Chester’s voice pulled him back into the moment, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this hellscape.

     “People are killed every day. Nobody gives a shit. But if I’m gonna get famous, get my book deal, get on “Donahue,” I gotta do this with pizzazz.” Marcus shivered as Chester’s knuckles rocked into his shoulder, pressing the handle of the knife into his shirt. The physical touch confirmed in some part of his brain that this was real. Chester was really standing in front of him again, bringing with him the fear that he had abandoned by joining the King’s Dominion. He swallowed in fear, trying to clear his dry throat. His thoughts trailed off as he tried to focus back in on what Chester was saying.

     “PT Barnum style. A real Hollywood barn dance.” Marcus rocked back as Chester turned away. He closed his eyes tight, trying to block out the dizzying world that was spinning around and around in his vision. Maybe if he closed his eyes tight enough the scarred and twisted face would disappear like a bad dream. Marcus peeked one eye open to check if he had managed to banish the demon solely on hope. He felt is heart drop at the sight of the worn black leather jacket.

     “Keep on rockin like dokken, brother. Gonna fuck with you in a bit, and get me on “Donahue”.” The ding of the elevator punctuated the end of his sentence, bringing the hellish moment to a close. Marcus sighed as the adrenaline poured from his body in the sweat that trickles down his back. He felt disconnected from his body, as if he was watching it from a movie screen. He watched as his own back slid down the wall, panting and out of breath from panic. His consciousness faded away on the stream of the drugs. His body moved on autopilot, stumbling out of the elevator to try and find any of his friends while muttering nonsensically about Chester. His eyes blurred as tears roll down his face unnoticed. Exhaustion weighed his bones down as he fell into the door, banging on it and screaming for anyone to come and save him from the hallucinations of old demons coming to collect their debts. The door swung open and he fell forward into the madness of Maria’s mind, leaving behind the thoughts of the scarred face that trailed behind him in his peripherals.


End file.
